An old repeating record player

It’s a quarter to 2 in the morning. I don’t plan on sleeping, and I’ll probably boil myself a cup of coffee. Now though,
I’ve sat myself on this couch with a bowl of plain oatmeal whilst the TV shows a Korean music show for old people and a documentary. All the while I know that in 6 hours I have midterms, followed by a gruelling 3 hours of International Law and German, and afterwards another 3 or so hours of thesis research.

This tasteless fibre treat coupled with the vibratos of these aging Korean artists brings me down to where I feel like I’m a depressed old man, regretting the things he’s done or not done and knowing that it just might be too late to make things right.

It’s so difficult to find self-happiness. I know where to begin, and I know that I have to have peace within me. This peace will have to come with a temporary distortion of someone else’s peace. I’m just so fucking afraid of what would happen to me and to her once I finally have the balls to fucking sort myself out.

I have to fix myself (I’ve probably said that a billion times), because this is harbouring so much pain that I have to act differently to friends that remind me of her. I have to have a life where I’m not constantly basing my actions and ideas through bittersweet memories. I want to have my own life.

I really thought I could live on my own, be dependent from the past mistakes. That will never happen. If peace is a still lake in the morning, then I have a small pond with a large rock thrown in the middle.

I find myself feeling jealous of people who find closure to these kinds of things. I guess I’ll return to my pity party of one.

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